


Stain

by CatHeights



Category: Smallville
Genre: Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-26
Updated: 2005-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-05 15:28:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatHeights/pseuds/CatHeights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lex ponders his bad luck with women and his failing friendship with Clark, while Clark wants an answer to one question. The story takes place during season 4 after the events in <i>Bound</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stain

  


The iPod plays Schubert. The rendition while precise lacks emotion. Lex removes the earbuds, tossing them carelessly over the iPod. He sits at the piano and tries to play the piece the way it deserves. All of his will pours out onto the keys, but it isn't enough. His rendering has too much emotion; it lacks classical perfection. No matter how hard he tries, he can never find that balance.

Still, he keeps playing, even when Corinne sits next to him, blood dripping from her neck. "You always come out on top, Lex, don't you?" she says.

He finds it odd that the ghastly wound at her neck doesn't affect her voice. "No, not really."

"It seems that way from here. I was really looking forward to seeing you fall."

"I'm sure you weren't alone," Lex says as he tries to pull back some of the emotion from his playing.

"Yet somehow something always saves you."

"Or someone." It's no use. He can't restrain the emotion. It's pouring out in torrents flooding the melody with wasteful excess.

"Or someone." Corinne nods in agreement, the movement causing a drop of blood to fall on the keys. "Did you have to drag me into your mess?"

"It wasn't intentional."

"It never is."

Lex ignores her, and eventually she disappears. Now it's just him and Schubert, and an endless quest for perfection. This obsession devours. The melody has its claws in him, and it won't let go. Perhaps he'll play for eternity, forever seeking.

His finger slips on something wet. Discord. Lex frowns at the sudden cacophony. He supposes there's blood on the keys. His or Corinne's? It doesn't matter. His eyes close. He doesn't need his sight to keep playing. A pungent scent tickles his nostrils. It seems he's wrong about the wetness on the keys because he knows that smell. It's alcohol not blood.

When he opens his eyes, Lex sees that the iPod is now on top of the piano. It's burning. The pink melts away from the circuitry as the fire traipses its way toward the keys. Lex can't stop playing. The fire draws nearer, and he feels some fear, but mostly relief and even exhilaration. Perhaps he'll hit the perfect final note.

His sleeve catches fire. The flames scorch his skin, but they don't bring the type of agony he's expecting. There's no heat, no burn. Instead, he feels like he's falling out of his body, falling from a plane, descending so quickly that the air is forced from his lungs. He's suffocating.

The flames erase his fingertips; they silence his ears. As the fire reaches his eyes, the last thing Lex sees before the world turns red is Clark watching him burn.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He wakes from the dream quietly, no sudden jerks, no pounding of his heart. When the waking hours hold more horrors than any nightmare, what is there to fear from dreams? If he believed in Hell, Lex would swear Smallville is one of its inner circles. But he doesn't believe, so what does that make Smallville? His father would say the place is a test of his character. Lex wonders if he's passing or failing. He bets that isn't even the right question.

His sigh echoes in the room. Thinking about his father is never a good idea at any hour. Lex tosses the covers aside, almost knocking them off the bed, and gets up. Trying to sleep had been a stupid idea, but he'd been so tired. How can he expect to rest peacefully with blood on his hands? Then again, he's had blood on his hands for years now. What's another layer? It's strange how he doesn't even need to wield a weapon to bring about bloodshed.

_Amanda_.

She still haunts him. Every time he screws up, he sees her eyes, markers of where his life intersected with hers and brought destruction. He had wanted to protect her, to show her that she deserved better than Jude, but it all had gone so horribly wrong.

_The music in Club Zero is suddenly quiet. Why can't he hear it any longer? The lights flicker so quickly that he feels like he's swaying. His eyes stare at an image his mind can't believe – Amanda holding the gun that shot Jude. Shock bleaches her face as the gun tumbles to the floor. _

He had followed Phelan's orders and broke all contact to protect her, but it had been too late, the taint of his interference was permanent. Her only escape death.

Lex shakes his head trying to dislodge the memory. He needs a drink. Alcohol is one of his few remaining pleasures. Every sip is a fuck you to his father, a fuck you to death. He drinks unafraid, but that's not a unique feeling. He's not afraid of much these days, except himself.

Shannon managed to generate a bit of fear though. She gave him a reminder that for the most part, he wants to live. He just sucks at it. Although there had been that moment when the fire circled and he thought, _ good, it'll save the world a lot of grief. _ He can't shake that thought.

A drink, he really needs a drink. Why does it feel like too much of an effort to get one? Lex walks over to the window and stares into the darkness. It's almost like looking into a mirror.

The rational part of his brain tells him he needs to move past this incident. Shannon is insane. But he can't help wondering if she'd been insane before he touched her. All those months ago, when he'd slept with her, had he created or unleashed something destructive within her? The thought should be madness, but he lives in Smallville. The meteor shower had granted him an advanced immune system. Was it really such a stretch to wonder if it had exacted some sort of twisted balance by granting him an ability to wreak destruction as well?

It would explain a hell of a lot. How Amanda, one of the sweetest souls in the universe, could kill someone. How Helen, an upstanding, compassionate doctor, could turn murderess. Hell, maybe it could even explain Desiree. No, Desiree needed no explanation – dangerous mutant targeting Lex Luthor would be sufficient.

Perhaps in the daylight, these thoughts will seem silly once again. He'll remember Helen's many flaws. But right now, Lex isn't so sure. He's always believed he was meant for a larger destiny – greatness – and lately his dreams echo that belief. In two different dreams, he wears a suit of white and is clearly the President of the United States . The dream should please him, and it would if it simply stopped there, but it's what follows that terrifies him.

In the first dream, he opens a set of doors and steps into a field of sunflowers. One of his hands is gloved, and with that hand, he cups a flower and sniffs its scent. The sunflower crumbles beneath his touch. All the flowers crumble, but they crumble to bones. A sly smile curves his face as he gazes at the surrounding destruction. When he wakes, the lingering feeling of dark satisfaction makes him want to vomit.

The other dream begins the same with him as president opening the doors, but when he steps outside, tulips surround him. Just like the sunflowers, the tulips crumble beneath his touch, except when the pieces hit the ground, they're not bones but actual bodies. So many deaths laid at his feet. In this dream, no smile curves his face. Instead, he begins to gag as the bitter cold freezes his nostrils. Lex tugs at his gloved hand trying to free it. He can feel light on his back, and he knows if he removes that glove, he'll be able to turn and walk into the warmth. The glove won't budge. Frost creeps ever forward as the light dims. The sky rains blood. He wakes staring at his hands, both ungloved.

Lex presses his forehead against the windowpane. He tells himself that he doesn't believe in soothsaying dreams, except he does. He might believe in those dreams almost as much as Clark believes in ridiculous cave myths. So where does that leave them both, in some sort of doomed myth where he brings about the destruction of the world? Or at least the United States. No, it would be the world – he never does anything small. It doesn't matter. The whole thing is ridiculous. They're just dreams. That they recur means nothing.

He's not doomed. The world's not doomed. Of course not.

Things were supposed to get easier once he beat his father. Lex should feel vindicated and free, but he doesn't because there is no victory as he's incapable of leaving the battlefield. He can't walk away. His father might be in prison, but Lex is still answering his summons. This last visit had been very unsettling.

_I want to be your father again. _

His father had seemed so sincere, so desperate, that for a second, Lex almost believed him. His common sense quickly asserted itself, and he told his Dad not to expect another miracle. But it disturbs him to know, despite everything, a remnant of that need to believe in his father remains. He will get rid of it. Bit by bit he's sealing off his weak spots. This time his fortress will be secure. Lex wonders what he'll be once that final wall slides in place.

The window chills his fingertips. He's only touching the pane lightly, but he can feel the cold working its way up his hand and into his wrist. He welcomes the discomfort. It lets him know that he still possesses some warmth. The tundra hasn't devoured his soul yet. Lex closes his eyes and remembers when his life had seemed filled with hope and warmth.

There had been a time when a near death experience had been a life-changing event. He recalls the constriction in his chest, painful breaths, and then heavy eyelids opening to meet a gaze greener than the spring. The boy he knows he hit kneels over him, drenched but unharmed. With shock, he takes in the image before him – warm, full, red lips, open and panting slightly; thick, dark hair mussed with water; and those incredible green eyes. The confusion on the boy's face befits that of a fallen angel.

No matter how much time goes by, this memory, his first of Clark, remains a vivid reality.

Almost as clear is that moment before Clark brought him back to life, the moment he flew. He remembers the exhilaration of being above it all, the freedom and clarity of soaring. The world sprawls out beneath him, offering him a new direction, showing him his destiny, and when he opens his eyes and sees that beautiful boy, he's so sure that boy is part of his destiny.

Once he got to know Clark, he realized he would have to wait. Clark wasn't ready, far too young and far too obsessed with Lana. Lex understands the girl on the pedestal syndrome, having once suffered from it himself. He'd thought if he just gave it time, Clark would move past it. Lana as a reality would never match Lana the fantasy.

Yet like many of his plans that one contained a fatal flaw – he'd assumed Clark would grow to trust him. He knows better now. So many secrets, on both their parts, dangle between them creating an ever-spreading chasm. Lana could never have created such a divide. It's his fault, Clark's fault. It shouldn't be like this, but it is.

He should leave. Lex knows this, but the knowledge isn't liberating. Sometimes when he sits alone in his library, his mind whispers: _Go to Metropolis. It's where you belong. You've stayed too long among the small-minded. _He tells himself that's his father talking, trying to lure him down the road of darkness, but the mental voice sounds like his own. Perhaps he should admit the truth – the danger isn't in leaving but in staying and letting Smallville continue to carve slices out of his soul. Darkness isn't a well you fall into. It's the relentless consumption of all you once cared about.

Yes, he should leave, but he can't, not yet. He isn't ready to give up on Clark. The room is empty, the trappings of his obsession destroyed, but still the obsession remains. He wonders if he'll ever be able to let go of it. He has tried. Marriage to Helen didn't help. No, that had almost been a death sentence. Clark's lies simply anger him, make him bitter and sharp-tongued; they don't break the tendrils of the obsession.

Clark's not even that same boy anymore. The difference is there in his eyes, less innocence, more knowledge and worlds of distrust. They've both changed, but his desire remains the same. The want is just as strong. Lex knows he'll never be able to cut those tendrils. He's waiting for Clark to do it.

The day will come when Clark won't rescue him. He'll be left to burn, and then re-emerge phoenix-like, into what? A question he can't answer. He's not ready to turn his gaze to the eventual road without Clark .

"Lex."

The voice startles him, and he stumbles as he turns around, one hand catching on the curtain. Clark is in his bedroom. Lex stares, eyes following the path of moonlight as it illuminates the hard set of Clark's jaw and the wild look in his eyes. Is this a dream? Did he fall asleep at the window? If he did Clark is probably about to do something horrible. Does he look angry enough to snap his neck? No, that wouldn't happen. Clark never physically hurts him in his dreams. He just watches.

Lex closes his eyes trying to control the tired ramblings of his mind. When he opens them, Clark is still there.

"Why did you sleep with them?"

The righteous tone to that question hits like a splash of cold water. This is no dream. Lex sighs and glances toward the clock. "Clark , you realize it's almost two in the morning."

"Why did you sleep with them?" Clark repeats, unrelenting as he always is lately.

Perhaps he deserves this. Maybe a Clark Kent inquisition will cleanse a few demons and allow him to sleep. Besides Clark isn't going to leave until he's gotten his answers. Lex knows this, but he can never make things easy, so he says, "Go home, Clark."

"I need you to tell me. Please."

It's the please that does him in. Clark sounds so desperate to understand. Lex doubts he can explain it to him. He turns back to the window, a finger reaching out to trace the chilly surface. Lately, it seems Clark always wants something he doesn't know how to give. "I'm not sure what you want me to say."

"The truth."

He has the urge to laugh and wonders how Clark would take the noise. Would he hear bitterness or desperation? No, he'd probably think Lex was making fun of him. He'd never understand why his answer is so amusing, in a defeatist way. Telling the truth has always meant different things to them both, and Lex has never quite gotten the art of telling "the truth" in a language Clark finds acceptable.

Lex turns slightly almost bumping into Clark who is beside him now, disconcertingly close. He had heard no sounds of movement. He could make a comment, but he knows this is one of those things he's not supposed to notice. It's amazing how stupid Clark likes him to pretend to be.

"Are there any particular women you're interested in Clark, or would you like a list of every woman I've ever slept with and why? How about the men? If so, you might need to give me some time to recall them all, and I'll probably be short on a few names, as you know."

"Dammit Lex! Why would you sleep with someone whose name you don't even know?"

The heat of ignorant righteousness feels scalding as Clark's breath falls on cold skin. He takes a step backward, away from Clark, and his hip catches on the windowsill. The pain, brief but sharp, never shows in his expression. He keeps his tone cool, letting a bit of amusement, condescension even, slip into it. "You do realize that people do this kind of thing every day, don't you? It may be out of your realm of experience, but I can assure you, I'm not the first person to have a one-night stand."

Clark's face flushes, and Lex feels his fingers twitch with the inappropriate urge to touch that heated skin. He takes a deep breath as Clark continues his tirade, neither anger nor embarrassment bringing a halt to the sharp words.

"I don't care what other people do. I asked why you did it."

"I like sex." Lex meets Clark's glare. "But I've proven my relationships tend to end in betrayal, so…." He shrugs. Of course now his one-night stands have turned just as deadly as his relationships. It has to be something within him. Other people manage casual sex just fine. "It's not a crime, Clark."

"I never said it was." Clark crosses his arms over his chest. "Why won't you answer my question? You're acting like it's no big deal. If that's true, why did you tell me you treated those women terribly? That people died, and you could have stopped it."

What the hell had he been thinking when he told Clark that? Those types of confessions always come back to haunt you. It's just that he has these moments of weakness when he wants Clark to understand how hard it has become to believe in anything. He needs Clark to understand what it's like to feel everything and nothing at all. His father has always claimed he's too emotional, but for far too long, Lex has felt stretched between two extremes – emotional gusher and barren wasteland. There's never any peace, any balance.

But Clark can't understand. So why even try to explain it? Those attempts always lead to conversations like this one where Clark accuses, and he tries to find an acceptable explanation. It's pointless.

Lex turns back to the window, the movement drawing him near to Clark again. He swears he can feel the warmth of Clark's skin. Vicious stabs of want bubble up threatening to choke him. How he wishes they could go back to the early days of their friendship when Clark tried to understand, when he so earnestly believed in him. Lex wants Clark to believe in him again. He wants so many things that seem just beyond his grasp.

Sometimes it seems like everything he touches falls to ruin.

He knows he should be careful in his choice of sexual partners, and he knows how to be careful. With a quick scan of a room, he can pick out the women who understand no-strings-attached, at least as far as sex is concerned. But the Victorias of the world lack true passion. Coldness meeting coldness makes no alteration in the landscape. It's all just barren.

So sometimes he's drawn to those he should avoid, the ones who have a need in their soul greater than in his own. There's something about kissing a person when they believe that you could be the one to change everything for them. Touch infused with belief is so warm, addictively warm.

He never lies, not with words. He makes no promises, but the eager to believe lie to themselves. The illusion of connection is simple to create and once it's formed, he finds it easy to indulge in a bit of fantasy. Except when he wakes in the morning next to some strange person, reality seems even colder. He can't get away fast enough. Lex swears each time that it'll be the last. He pushes the incident from his mind. Makes sure his sexual partners are more lighthearted, less needy. For a bit, he's successful, until the emptiness returns and he finds himself meeting a warm smile, sad eyes, and well….

"Lex."

Damn it. Why can't Clark just leave this alone? Rage throbs inside his head. For a minute, he wants to shove Clark out of the fucking room. He wants to scream something that will raze their friendship. He wants to raze the whole fucking world. Lex takes a deep breath. Who is he really mad at, Clark or himself? Until Shannon bound him to a chair, he had never once stopped to think about what became of those women with the need in their eyes. He better than most knows that death comes in many ways while you're still alive. Had he pushed someone that much closer to the edge? It was possible, probable even.

Or is he just being melodramatic? After all, it's not like he coerced anyone. They wanted to sleep with him. He wanted to sleep with them. Isn't it possible that was all there was to it? That there was nothing he could have foreseen, nothing he really saw in their eyes, except what he wanted to see, what he needed to see. Damn it, can't this all just stop? He doesn't want to think on it anymore. He needs to move forward.

"It got out of hand," Lex says. He knows Clark won't like that explanation, but too bad. He's said all he's going to say on the matter. He's done.

"That's not an answer, Lex. You told me this was something that never happens. How does something never happen over 13 times?"

"I didn't mean that literally." The sideways glance of annoyance he gives Clark would send anyone else scurrying from the room. "I meant it's something that isn't supposed to happen but does, and you move on. Clark, it's late. Can we discuss this tomorrow?"

"I hated her."

Lex can feel his jaw go slack in response to the venom in Clark's voice. This is new. "You what?"

"I saw you in the elevator. I watched the security tape, and I couldn't help it."

Chloe. Of course Chloe would have managed to know someone who could get her a copy of that security tape. One day he's going to convince her to consider alternate career options. She'd be incredibly useful if employed correctly, but right now she's a bit of a headache. Clark really hadn't needed to see that tape.

"I hated the way your mouth touched her neck." Clark's voice shook. "I hated how she pushed you up against the wall. I hated her."

He can't stop staring at Clark's eyes. For a second, he swears he sees a flicker of red in them. Is it a trick of the moonlit darkness? There's something harder in Clark now. He's seen shades of it before, the marks of unshared experiences battling beneath Clark 's attempts at control.

"I don't want to feel that way," Clark says. "And I shouldn't feel like that cause you treated her, all of those women horribly. How could you treat anyone like that? Like they don't matter. How can I trust you if you can do that?"

The moonlight adds to the surrealism as Clark bends down so that his next words are a breath against Lex's lips. "I want to trust you."

There's no shocked pause as Clark's lips touch his. He dreams of this far too often to be shocked. Instead, instinct takes over and one hand slides into Clark's hair. It's so easy to respond to Clark's kiss, to give up everything to him. Perhaps the kiss is a bit rougher than he usually imagines, but surely he's had this fantasy before. The one where he's so far from control that it's equal parts exhilaration and terror.

Determined fingers fumble with the buttons of his pajama top, and as Clark's mouth moves to the base of his neck, Lex tilts his head, giving Clark what he wants. One hand slides to Clark's shoulder, grasping tightly, anchoring him to where he needs to be. The warm pressure of Clark's mouth floods his skin with contented arousal, and he can't halt the soft sound that escapes from his lips. For once his brain is silent. There's no thought, just this moment that he swears he's wanted forever.

"So tomorrow, will you forget me too?" Clark's voice is a whisper, a cool breeze against the dampness on Lex's neck. "Or will I last until you've figured out all of my secrets?"

Clark lifts his head and stares at him for a moment. It isn't until lips once again brush his mouth that those whispered words fully register in Lex's mind. His throat tightens, and he breaks the kiss, moving away from the window and stepping back into the shadows.

"What the hell are you doing Clark ?" Lex is shocked by how ragged his voice sounds.

"What, you don't understand kissing?" Clark looks down, foot scuffing the floor. "You sure looked like you did when you were kissing Shannon in that elevator."

One part of Lex's mind is raging at him for breaking that kiss, that moment, but another part is drawing conclusions he should have made the moment the word “hate” passed the lips of Clark Kent. Clark is jealous. And Clark doesn't trust him. Well that's not exactly a new conclusion. But Clark is _jealous_. That bit of knowledge could prove useful.

Useful? What is wrong with him? He shouldn't be thinking like this. Clark is not behaving like himself. He should be finding out why. Lex rubs at the back of his neck and takes a deep breath. When he speaks his voice is soft, calming. "Clark, are you okay? Tell me what's going on."

Now Clark is looking out the window. Lex wonders what he sees in the darkness.

"I didn't get it for so long, Lex," Clark says. "But summer in Metropolis was eye-opening."

Lex wants to ask in what way, but he knows he won't get an answer, so he remains silent.

"I finally got it, but then you were gone, supposedly dead." Clark's quiet for a few seconds before he says, "And I wasn't quite myself. And then you were back, but maybe I still didn't get it because I didn't do anything. Didn't know what I should do. Then it all went wrong. I kept trying to help you and all it did was drive us further apart. I found out you were lying to me again and again." Clark's gaze turns from the window and focuses on Lex, determined. "Things shouldn't be this way. I don't want them to be this way."

Dangerous questions lurk inside his head. Lex isn't sure he wants to let them out just yet. Perhaps he doesn't even need to ask them because he can feel his pulse panting a desperate acknowledgement of what finally seems to be coming to pass. Still, he can't quite keep his silence. "How do you want them to be?"

Clark holds out his hand, and Lex stares for a moment before taking it. The kiss is softer this time, more like his dreams where Clark is tentative.

"I want to kiss you like this, and know you're not lying to me."

Lex wants to ask if the lying thing goes both ways, but he's afraid that comment will send Clark away – forever. He's not willing to risk that, not now, so he keeps his silence.

"I want to know no one else is touching you. I want to be enough. Would I be enough, Lex?"

"Yes." The word is out of his mouth before his mind can halt it. He should have lied. This will end badly. He wonders if he allows himself this taste of Clark how much more it will hurt when Clark finally does leave. And he will leave because Lex can't change. There's irony in Clark asking if he'll be enough. Lex knows the truth. In the end, it's he who won't be enough for Clark. Clark will always want more. He knows all this, yet he doesn't take back that "yes."

"Will you please tell me why you slept with those women?"

"Because it was cold." Lex is sure Clark won't understand, but then fingers touch his cheek, and as he looks up, he realizes Clark understands all too well.

"You don't have to be cold," Clark says. His warms lips emphasize his statement.

Lex closes his eyes. "You understand everything I touch falls apart."

"Not this time."

He allows Clark to maneuver him against the wall, all the while knowing he should stop this. But he's never been able to let go of what he wants, and he's wanted Clark more than anything. He's willing to tempt disaster. When it all goes wrong, perhaps one day Clark will forgive him.

"Stop thinking," Clark mumbles, his mouth nudging fabric to press against Lex's shoulder.

And Lex does, as much as he ever can. His pajama top is open, and Clark's hands are running over his skin. He's torn between continuing to allow those hands to have their way and wanting to do some exploration of his own. He gives in to want, interrupting the movement of questing hands so that he can help shed Clark's upper body of clothing.

His fingers trail down Clark's chest and over tensing stomach muscles to tug at the waistband of Clark's jeans, pulling him closer. His pajamas are thin, and he can feel the roughness of denim against his cock. Clark presses into him, and he presses back, creating a painful rubbing that's so damn arousing, and frustratingly not enough.

Clark's hand finds its way into the slit of his pajamas, wrapping around his dick. The touch isn't as tentative as he would have expected. Lex really wants to ask Clark a number of questions about that summer in Metropolis, but now is definitely not the time to try to satisfy curiosity. The questions will remain for later, just like they always do.

He unbuttons Clark's jeans and pulls down the zipper, one hand pushing open boxers. His fingers circle the tip of Clark's cock, and Clark pushes into his hand with a moan. There's not even the temptation of thought now. There's just Clark's mouth, warm and demanding, drawing in his tongue. Clark's hand is on his cock and his hand on Clark's, and they're finding each other's rhythm. And there's this frenzied need that at last is getting a taste of something long desired.

When Clark comes, he shouts out "Lex."

Lex comes quietly, something twisting inside, as he knows he'll never stop wanting Clark to shout out his name like it's the only important thing in the world.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When he returns from cleaning up in the bathroom, the lights are on and Clark, wearing only boxers, is sprawled across his bed. Lex feels himself growing hard again. He wants nothing more than to walk across the room and climb on top of Clark. His mind whispers, _go slow. Take your time. Make him want to come back for more. _ He decides to listen.

As Lex leans against the doorframe watching Clark, he can feel an awkwardness lingering in the room. The surreal feeling of earlier seems to have dissipated under the brightness of artificial light. He can tell Clark's trying hard to appear casual, but there's defiance instead of ease in his pose, as if he's challenging himself to look comfortable. Lex pushes away from the doorframe and strolls toward the bed. He sits on the edge and reaches out a hand to stroke Clark's chest. A slight smile graces his lips as he raises his head. "You can stay for awhile?"

Apparently, he's asked the right question for once. The smile Clark gives him is brilliant, and Lex finds he's grinning in response, something lighthearted taking hold in his chest.

"Sure. I just need to get home before dawn." Clark's smile fades and concern flickers across his face. "You look tired."

"It was a long week," Lex says. "And it is late, not that I've minded the interruption. It was a welcome one."

Clark looks uncomfortable, and Lex feels tightness in his stomach, as he wonders what he could have said wrong.

"Lex, you said that when that fire was coming toward you, you thought it would save the world a lot of grief."

"I don't want to die, Clark, if that's what you're asking."

"Good." Clark reaches out for his hand and squeezes it. "You shouldn't. Lay down. I'll get the lights."

Lex pulls down the covers and gets underneath them. Once the lights are out, Clark returns, lying so that they're facing each other. "Go to sleep, Lex."

He has no intention of sleeping, not when he feels so at peace. It's too rare of a feeling to waste. Still he can close his eyes and make Clark happy. Lex can feel Clark 's hand stroking his arm and hear the even sound of Clark's breathing. It's so very peaceful.

When he opens his eyes again, the sky has started to lighten. Morning is approaching. He must have fallen asleep. His hand reaches out to touch smooth sheets. He's alone in his bed. Bitterness rises in his mouth. A dream? He closes his eyes, but blinks them open when the bed suddenly dips. Clark is seated next to him, and Lex is almost embarrassed by the relief he feels.

"Sorry to wake you, but I need to go." Clark looks toward the window where it's getting lighter by the minute. "I should have left sooner, but I didn't want to wake you."

"It's okay, Clark ."

"Are you going to be around later?"

He has meetings scheduled in Metropolis for today. He'll cancel them. "Yes, I'll be here."

"Good, I'll stop by, if you want." Clark looks hopeful.

Lex smiles. "That's something I definitely want." He notices that as Clark stands to leave he's frowning. "Is something wrong?"

"No." Clark stares for a moment and then looks defiant. Chin raised, he says, "Don't look away. I'll see you." Clark gives him a brief, nervous smile, and then he's just not there anymore.

Lex's mouth parts slightly, and he stumbles to the window, not sure what he's expecting to see. Perhaps he thinks there will be puffs of dirt spiraling up in Clark's wake, which is ridiculous for many reasons, the most of which being he's not even looking in the right direction. He has the insane urge to mutter "meep, meep," and wants to ask Clark if he can out run the Roadrunner. Of course that's making the assumption Clark's quick disappearances are due to some sort of super speed versus the ability to teleport.

Slightly hysterical laughter bubbles up his throat as he watches the sun begin its ascent. Clark is going to trust him. A thread of doubt tries to needle its way into his belief, telling him Clark will change his mind and play dumb when he asks about this later. The doubt slips away, drowned by newly woken hope. Clark is finally going to trust him. He's sure of it.

A yawn escapes, and Lex covers his mouth. Smiling, he stumbles back to the bed. It's not long before sleep takes him, and when it does, he feels the exhilaration of flight. His skin tingles with it. This time he can't see what's beneath him, but he doesn't care. It's all about the feeling. His mind soars and drifts, floating on a dreamscape wind. Maybe this time, he won't fall.


End file.
